


I Know What I'm Worth

by emef



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Alternative Perspective, M/M, More Pining, Morgana in a shockingly small role, Pining, Singing, more tree puns than you can shake a stick at
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 10:22:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5740027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emef/pseuds/emef
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one with the self-aware desk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Know What I'm Worth

I mean, nobody thinks about the furniture.

I travelled a long way to get here, you know. People think I don’t remember, because I’m not very talkative, but I do. I am hardwood; hardwoods have long memories. I remember the soil. I remember the sun. I remember.

The yellow birch-coloured one paid a lot of money to have me here - that’s right, I know what I’m worth - but he doesn’t think about me. He sets his laptop and his coffee down on me and thinks about business. Sets his elbows  on my surface, piles books on me, sometimes gets up and bangs his shins on my corners. And sometimes - just sometimes - he drops his head into his hands atop me, and falls asleep.

That’s when the dark walnut-coloured one comes in to get him.

“Arthur!” He is long and his limbs are slightly overgrown. “I mean. Mr. Pendragon, sir.”

The dark walnut one wakes the yellow birch - whose name is Arthur - at least once a week. In these woods the days are challenging, full of exhaustion and shouts coming through small unhappy devices, and Arthur requires help frequently. Help with his business, help with his food, sometimes even help with changing from his daytime to his nighttime foliage.

Before the dark-haired one, there was differently-haired one. Not that I could tell you much about him - I find that my memories of the predecessors are hazy. Like a very faint dream. The predecessors were different somehow - or is it the dark walnut-coloured one who is different?

"...Sir?"

"Merlin, _must_ you be so hopeless."

(The dark walnut’s name is Merlin.)

"Yes, Sir."

(He teases the yellow birch Pendragon when he forgets he's not supposed to.)

"I should have been awake half an hour ago, you lout. I promised Morgana I would rewrite the Stevens case for support."

Merlin sets a pile of paper down on me.

"Bloody Hell, Merlin.” Arthur sputters. His eyes widen as he flips through the document.

Merlin takes the document out of Arthur’s hands, and replaces it with a cup of coffee. “The morning transfers were done and I thought you could use the -“

“This is… How did you know what to write, Merlin? Magic?"

“Oh, ah, I just -“ he doesn’t look Arthur in the eye as he says it - “heard you talking about it earlier. I just added your ideas to the draft."

*

Think of the happiest you’ve ever been. When you were busy but not anxious, and worried neither about the past nor the future. When your smile was not tainted and you could not remember that it ever was.

They make each other laugh. They flutter around the office, and it feels a bit like pollen is dancing in the air. Sometimes the birch-coloured Pendragon sings.

“ _We haaaaave_ ” He moves some papers around. “ _The chance to tuuuurn the pages over_.”

He usually does it very softly, even absently.

“ _We can write what we want to wriiiiite_.”

Bent over a pile of contracts, he scribbles note after note in the margin, not noticing Merlin returning from the tea shop.

“ _We gotta make eeeends meet._.”

“What's that you're singing?" Merlin asks

" _Before me get much older_ \- honestly, Merlin, am I really employing someone with so little grasp of popular culture, in general, and power ballads, in particular?"

"Oh! I think I know this one. It’s about having power to be powerful, and sitting in silence. Which - advocating silence is probably ironic. For a song.”

“How did you ever get this job.”

“And,” Merlin blinks innocently. "The song is also about being someone’s son and also their daughter?"

"You're doing this on purpose."

“I'm sorry,” Merlin’s expression is blank. “It’s just such a challenge to think when I’ve had nothing to do but fetch tea for days.”

“Oh _dear_.” When he teases Merlin, Arthur’s voice is low. I can feel it rumble. “Merlin, to think of you suffering the indignity of your job description.”

Merlin doesn't laugh, but glee rolls off of him in waves. “Do you even know where the tea shop is in this building?”

“Merlin Emrys,” Arthur is starting to smile. “Are you suggesting I _fetch my own tea_?”

“Me? Never.”

The corner of Merlin’s mouth quirk up as he says it. And suddenly, something about the Pendragon's rhythm is broken. Or perhaps only changed.  He looks in Merlin's direction a moment longer.

*

The days are still challenging, full of exhaustion and shouts, but now Arthur's heart beats faster when he sees Merlin.

Also, sometimes a priestess with ebony-coloured hair appears.

"BLOODY HELL," roars Arthur, while Merlin looks up blankly. “Hello, Ms. LeFay."

“Boys.”

Her name is Morgana. Ripples of power precede her when she enters a room. She also makes market forecasts.

Arthur turns toward her. ”Can't you knock?"

“Boys, I’ve been thinking about dictionaries.”

Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose. “Dictionaries?”

She sets down a large tome on me and gestures towards it. It is very heavy. "Yes. Dictionaries. And the publishing thereof. What do we think about academic publishing companies?”

“Would _they_ knock at my office door before entering?"

*

Arthur Pendragon does not behave differently when he thinks he is alone in his office. He works as efficiently as he always does, only he looks slightly more indifferent. His mental and physical energies decline and his shoulders fall, slightly.

Morgana’s dictionary, which she helpfully left behind, defines this as “pining” - I confess that I do not know what this state of yearning has to do with my cousin, the noble pine, but there you are - which suggests that he is missing and longing for the return of something. But it is hardly noticeable. Whether or not Arthur is alone, he appears almost the same.

The dark walnut-haired one’s behaviour, in contrast, changes dramatically when he is alone. His eyes are occasionally ablaze with  a strange colour and he makes things move without touching them. Today he makes files fly towards the filing cabinet, so fast that I can feel the air whoosh like wind. Under his supervision, they sort themselves, moving as though they have minds of their own.

When the files are sorted, the dark walnut one stands and picks up something on top of the filing cabinet. When moves close to me I feel strong, I can remember the feeling of the sun’s rays on my leaves. I can almost sense the rain trickling down my trunk towards my roots. I can feel the water, I can feel it -

I can feel that he has dropped his open water bottle on me.

When he notices, the dark walnut-haired one levitates the water almost immediately, and droplets hang in the air, suspended by his golden gaze and outstretched hand. The air is suddenly potent with power. Time seems to stop, the walls resonate with it, even the carpet is suddenly filled with Merlin’s energy.

That is when Arthur walks in.

“Merlin!”

“Arthur!”

The rain falls down on me once more. I am moistened; I am quenched.

“Arthur. This isn’t what it looks like.”

The yellow birch-haired Pendragon holds two cups full of water infused with the dried, crushed leaves of a plant. The beverages are fragrant and the yellow birch one looks down at them, then back up. Then he starts backing away, slowly.

“Arthur!” Merlin cries again. He sounds like despair.

Arthur only returns the next day, and when he steps into the office he makes no mention of the incident. Merlin stares, but Arthur hangs his coat, picks up the day’s internal mail and sits down without so much as looking in Merlin’s direction.

“Arthur?”

Arthur picks up a pen, makes a note in the margin of one of the memos. He still doesn’t look at Merlin.

“Mr Pendragon?”

Slowly, seemingly randomly, Arthur swivels around until all that is visible is the back of his chair.

They spend the day like this, Arthur doing his job as vice chair of Pendragon Inc. and Merlin doing his job as his assistant, and they almost entirely avoid interacting with each other.

At four thirty, Merlin stands in front of Arthur’s desk and coughs.

“I’m  - I’m off.”

Arthur, who is reading a report, makes no sign of having heard Merlin speaking. He turns a page.

Merlin blinks several times in quick succession and then turns to leave.

Arthur calls out. “Merlin -“

“Yes?”

“Move the meeting with Stevens tomorrow to three o’clock.”

The air around us grows dull and still. Merlin does not respond. The sunlight, streaming in through the window, feels purposeless.

In the following weeks Arthur works longer hours. Perhaps Merlin knows that Arthur occasionally remains in the office overnight, but he does not comment on it. In fact, no one comments on it.

In the late hours Arthur listens to music in which the word “heart” features prominently, and passes out atop me. In his sleep he mouths Merlin’s name, and later he wakes with a jolt and lurches his way to the couch, only to wake a few hours later. In the daytime he holds himself stiffly when Merlin is in view, and when Merlin is gone he puts his elbows on me, holds his head in his hands, and sighs.

*

Now you must be thinking: Arthur and Merlin's distraught relationship is all well and good, but what about me? What about my timeless consciousness? What about my strengthening awareness of my role as a desk in the modern corporate world?

Certainly, some would suggest that the quotidian drama of these humans is insufficiently dignified. Perhaps it is even embarrassing for such a well-respected, esteemed piece of furniture as myself to be preoccupied by their turmoil. But I will say this: their wanting, reaching, helpless romance is something we can all identify with. Watching them is like bearing witness to the heliotropism and thermotropism of my brethren. Arthur is the sun, and Merlin cannot help turning towards him, wherever he is. And when things between them grow cold, they curl in on themselves, they collapse and fold, like leaves in response to a temperature drop.

And you see, things between them are growing cold, but they cannot be allowed to grow colder. These humans may be bear their colours, but unlike the noble birch and whimsical walnut, they do not recover their foliage after they have been chilled to the bone.

When Merlin comes rushing into the office, babbling something about publishers and corporate tax exemptions, I seize my chance. “Sir, Morgana was right, I think -“

In a flash, I move sideways.

Merlin and I collide. Times slows, the reality of all that surrounds us resettles itself… and then returns. Merlin has tumbled down to the floor, documents flying out of his hands.

He cries out in pain. I feel a brief sting of guilt.

Arthur’s heart stops. “Merlin!”

On the floor, Merlin cradles his wrist, looking like he's forgotten how to be powerful. “What… how did -“

“Merlin.” Arthur kneels, puts his arms around Merlin protectively. Ah yes. Here it is: they look into each other’s eyes.

“I think I hit my head.”

“Merlin.” Arthur sways towards him, slightly. “Merlin. You… oaf.”

“The performance report -“ Merlin twists around in Arthur’s arms, as though to reach for the document.

“Merlin.”

“But it’s -“

“ _Merlin_.”

Merlin gapes up at Arthur. Everything in him - confusion, stress, warmth, desire, strength, clumsiness, longing - is entirely focused on Arthur. For a moment, the two of them are outside of time.

“Thank you.“ Merlin stutters. “For not firing me.”

Arthur starts. And then blinks. And then all of a sudden, his eyes widen and grow dark. “ _What have you done_.”

“No! No, I meant - in November. When…“

“Oh. When you -“ Arthur holds up his hands to suggest suspended droplets of water. “With the water bottle.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re thanking me for not _firing_ you? Why would I have fired you?”

“Well because of…”

“Because of…?”

Merlin squeezes his eyes shut. “Because I’m… abnormal.”

“Merlin,” Arthur says, rolling his eyes. “I’ve always known you were abnormal.”

There is a pause, and then they rush towards each other. There is a tangling on limbs on my surface. I do not understand this race of humans. So hasty.

*

Postscript:

“Merlin, you nut.”

Yes! Precisely! Walnut. This is what I have been saying all along. A noble deciduous tree with a life that spans centuries.

Atop me, Merlin giggles. “I’ll show you a -“

“Merlin!”

**Author's Note:**

> The song is, of course, ["You’re the Voice” by John Farnham](https://youtu.be/iXaHtHKK9Zg).


End file.
